


Revisiting the Past

by salanaland



Series: Visitorverse [14]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassins and Templars in modern times, Emotional Turmoil, Eventual Threesome, F/M, Feelings, Haytham caaaaaaaaares, M/M, Multi, emotional stupidity, feeeeeeeeeelings, knee injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salanaland/pseuds/salanaland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visitorverse, post Homecoming. It's been a long time since that one night Haytham had with Shay and Aveline. But is he really over it? Or does he still have unresolved feelings bubbling beneath the surface?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was more than half written by salanaland, but there are two chapters apiece from Riona and VampireBadger. Like most Visitorverse projects, this was a team thing the whole way through and I most definitely couldn't have done it without them.
> 
> This will eventually contain semi-explicit sexual content so if that's not your thing, keep an eye on the notes; there will be a warning on the two chapters with sexytimes.

Shay wonders if his knees were always doomed. They'd given out on him in his other life, and they'd failed again. Of course, last time was because he'd landed wrong on a rooftop. This time, he'd been in a supermarket vestibule, and squatted down to tie little Geraldine's shoe (buckles had been _so_ much easier) when the automatic door had closed and caught him right above the knee.

His leg stayed in place; his kneecap didn’t.

It was not a good feeling.

Once all the screaming (mostly from Geraldine) was over with, and the store manager had called the ambulance, and Shay was in the hospital searching for his insurance card with the false name on it, he finally remembered the ice cream they'd left behind, and counted it as a loss.

Even though he didn't think it was all that bad of an injury, and all the doctors that saw him (why not just one, that really knew his stuff?) assured him he'd be walking in a few days, it still takes several hours before he's allowed to go home. Connor picks him up at the hospital, with a fretful Haytham in tow. (Or is it obvious to anyone else that Haytham is worried? The compressed lips, the pinched brow, those are subtle enough that they might go missed by others, Shay muses.)

Shay had stopped by the store after taking Geraldine out for a picnic lunch and feeding the ducks at the little park nearby, but the glacial speed of the ER means that it's close to 8pm and his daughter will have to eat a microwave dinner and won't even get any ice cream afterwards. When they get back to the safe house, she's near tears from hunger and worry, and Shay feels like the world's worst father for not being able even to microwave her chicken nuggets. Connor feeds her, which helps her mood if not Shay's, and then she skypes with Aveline, who is away on Assassin business. When they're done, and Shay has kissed Geraldine goodnight three times, Haytham brings the tablet over to him, and he gets to tell his wife all the embarrassing details of his injury.

He's not looking forward to climbing into his empty bed that night, and not just because of the pain. When he begins to stagger towards the bedroom, Haytham hears him and hurries out of his own room. "I heard you get up. What on Earth do you think you're doing?" he chides.

"Going to bed, sir," Shay tells him, stubbornly, trying to hop on one foot towards the bedroom and stumbling.

"You're supposed to be staying off that leg," Haytham insists, pulling Shay's arm across his shoulders. "That's better." Haytham is close enough to smell, even in these sanitized times when everyone bathes daily and hardly anyone smells of anything but soap and perfume. Shay breathes deeply, savoring the warm scent of his boss, his friend, his visitor, his one time lover, who helps him to the bed.

As Shay sits down, he feels the stretchy bandage slip down his leg, and sighs. "Sir, can you give me a hand, please?" he asks, face red. It's silly, but he's never gotten the hang of wrapping his own knee.

"Of course," Haytham tells him, and helps hold him up so Shay can remove his trousers, then sits beside the bed and wraps the elastic bandage around and around his knee.

Maybe it's just proximity, or maybe it's that whiff Shay got of him earlier, or maybe it's Haytham's worry and the way he's taking care of Shay. Whatever it is, it settles in Shay's stomach, twisting and turning and _yearning_ , and he licks his lips and murmurs, "Sir."

When Haytham's eyes meet his, Shay leans forward, pulls him close, and presses his lips to Haytham's. For a minute, and another, the kiss is as wonderful as Shay was half imagining, half remembering. Haytham's hand slips around Shay's back, and Shay parts his lips, welcoming Haytham's tongue against his own.

They separate, both breathing heavily, and Shay only has time to murmur, " _Sir_ ," appreciatively, before Haytham turns and _flees_. There's no other word for it, and Shay really can't follow him with his knee in the state it's in. He sighs, reaches for his phone, and texts Aveline.

> I just kissed Haytham.
> 
> And he let you??
> 
> He ran away after.
> 
> Oh, Haytham.
> 
> Now I want him again.
> 
> Still.
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Never change, husband.
> 
> I won't, my little bird.
> 
> I love you. Kisses. Rest that knee (you'll be on it when I get home!!)
> 
> Love you too, kisses. Wish I could be on it sooner.
> 
> Talk to Haytham about that. LOL
> 
> Haytham? Talk? Are we talking about the same Haytham here?
> 
> No, one of the other Haythams we know.
> 
> Ha ha
> 
> Goodnight, darling Shay.
> 
> Goodnight, beloved Aveline.
> 
> <3
> 
> <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by the marvelous [VampireBadger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireBadger/)!

Shay barely sleeps, and his restlessness has nothing to do with the continuing ache in his knee. His earlier kiss with Haytham has brought a sharp loneliness flaring up inside him, and he wants… Haytham, he wants Aveline, he wants  _ both  _ of them, and for a moment he feels unforgivably selfish for asking so much.

But they both want  _ him— _ Aveline has proven this time and time again across two lifetimes, it has been a very long time since Shay wondered about her love for him. And Haytham… well, Shay thinks again about that kiss, and a warmth spreads out from somewhere deep inside him. He thinks of their one night just before Haytham's death, and he thinks… Haytham has to want them too, doesn't he?

But then, he had run. So maybe it doesn't matter.

So the night passes. Shay stays where he is in his bed, staring at the ceiling and picturing Haytham doing the same thing in his own room. This isn't fair. He thinks about going after Haytham, but his knee makes that a painful idea. Then he thinks about texting him, but this conversation needs to happen in person, not over a phone.

So Shay just lies still, and waits for morning.

He's half hoping Haytham will come by after sunup, but it's Edward that comes barging in much later in the morning. "Hey!" he says. "Shay."

"What?"

Edward's unusually serious expression brightens into a smile. "You look like a turtle stuck on your back," he says.

"Is that what you came in here to say?" Shay asks, rather more testily than necessary. "Or—"

"Oh, no." The smile fades again. "Is Haytham on a mission or something?"

"What?"

"Well it's just—" Edward crosses his arms, then uncrosses them again, fidgeting in apparent concern. "I don't want to sound like I'm overthinking this—"

"You? Edward, the thought has never crossed my mind."

"But he  _ is  _ my son," Edward says. "And I get worried when he just disappears without telling anyone where he's gone."

"Disappears?" Shay echoes weakly. Surely Haytham had only fled the room last night after his kiss with Shay. Surely he wouldn't—he  _ couldn't  _ have run from the safehouse altogether…

"He came in to help you with your knee—" Edward points an accusatory finger at Shay. "And then he came running out and went right out the front door."

Oh,  _ Haytham_.

"I thought he'd come back," Edward says. "I thought, well maybe you need bandages or painkillers or something, but we share a room and so I know he didn't come back at all last night."

No, no, this isn't at all what he'd wanted. Shay had been thinking—as far as he had been thinking at all—that he wanted Haytham with him. Not farther away. And yet that's exactly what's happened, he's scared Haytham off. Possibly even for good (no, no,  _ no _ )…

"Shay?" Edward says. "I know you won't tell me anything about what the two of you are working on, but can you at least tell me if he's off on some templar thing? I'll still worry about him, but I dunno. I guess I'll worry less if I know this is templar stuff and not—" He breaks off, looking nervously at Shay. "He just looked… wrong, when he left."

Shay thinks how horrified Haytham would be to come home, only to find that Shay has told everyone. Or has told Edward, anyway, who will then tell everyone because he's Edward and that's what Edward does. He'd never be able to live it down, he'd suffocate under the weight of the shame he's invented for himself. And Shay wouldn't normally lie to any of his visitors, but it's Haytham, and Shay cares for him far too much to let him be hurt.

"Haytham's fine," he lies. "We got news last night that Abstergo has started doing some things we've been waiting a while for. Obviously I can't run after them like this, so Haytham went instead."

"So he's fine," Edward says. "Good! Good. And he'll be back soon?"

Shay certainly hopes so. "I'm not sure," he says, inventing wildly as he goes. "He'll have to stay out of contact for a while. No idea how long, but Abstergo's really getting suspicious and he needs to go dark."

"Oh." Edward's expression clears. "But I mean if it's a mission that's okay. Haytham knows what he's doing, I'm sure he can handle anything."

Sure. Anything but his own feelings. Shay closes his eyes again as Edward leaves the room, and tries not to dwell on the ghost of Haytham's mouth on his, how badly he wants the man back, how terrified he is at the thought of Haytham alone, afraid, suffering, heaping undeserved blame and shame onto his own shoulders.

Come  _ home_, Haytham.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lovely chapter is courtesy of Riona!

Haytham didn’t have a clear destination in mind when he left the safehouse after Shay kissed him; his main priority was getting far enough away to be able to think clearly. It’s been weeks, and he’s increasingly suspecting that his mind will never be clear again.

He’s currently living in a former Abstergo storehouse; the _true_ Templars took it for their own some time ago, but they haven’t yet found a use for it, so it’s been sitting unoccupied. The utilities are paid up for the next few months. It’s adequate for now.

The words _for now_ shadow his thoughts. He has found himself facing an unimaginably empty future. He has left behind his father, his sons, his friends, his... he has left behind Shay and Aveline. He has abandoned the Templars; working for the order would only lead Shay here. What is left to him?

There was a time when _for now_ was all that existed for him, when he thought his life was at an end. It seemed rather less daunting than this.

Perhaps one day, months or years from now, he will be able to reach out and re-establish contact with Desmond, at least. They can meet on neutral ground, on the condition that Shay and Aveline stay away.

But Desmond will want to know why Haytham left. Perhaps Shay will already have told him. How can Haytham ever look into his eyes again, knowing that he _knows?_

Easiest not to dream of reunions. The visitors are in his past. He needs to find a new life.

A tingling in the back of his head reminds him that not _all_ of the visitors are in his past, and he looks around sharply. It’s Jacob Frye.

“Haystack!” Jacob says brightly, holding out his arms. As far as Haytham can tell, it amuses him to offer embraces he knows full well Haytham will refuse.

It’s too sharp a reminder of all the warmth he’s lost. Haytham looks away.

“Oh, don’t sulk,” Jacob says. “What’s wrong? Has future me done something annoying?”

“Nothing is _wrong_ ,” Haytham says, almost on instinct.

“Look, you’re never exactly dancing with joy, but you don’t look happy. Did something happen?”

_Conceal your feelings_. It’s what he’s always done, and every instinct in him screams against saying anything.

But Jacob already knows of that lost night; he already holds the power to ruin Haytham’s life, if he so chooses. And Haytham’s life appears to have been thoroughly ruined already, in any case.

Haytham draws in a shuddering breath.

“Shay kissed me.” Every word is a barb in his throat.

“Oh!” Jacob says, evidently startled. “Well, congratulations.”

Haytham rounds on him. “ _Congratulations?_ ”

“Didn’t you want—”

“I had to leave behind every living person I have ever loved,” Haytham says. “I had to leave behind the order that gave my life purpose. And you are _congratulating_ me?”

Jacob blinks, and then he looks around. “You ran away?”

Haytham doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to, it seems.

“Because Shay kissed you?” Jacob asks.

“Why else?”

Jacob stares at him for a moment.

“Do you have any idea how stupid you are?” he asks.

“I can’t imagine why I prefer to keep my feelings to myself,” Haytham says, coldly. “They’re met with such understanding on the rare occasions when I speak of them.”

“It’s a genuine question,” Jacob says. “Do you have the slightest notion?”

“Enlighten me. How stupid am I, exactly?”

“You told me you were in love with Shay and Aveline,” Jacob says.

Haytham’s stomach clenches at the words. Hearing them spoken by someone else makes them seem more real, somehow, more of a threat. He has to look around to make sure nobody is in earshot, although he knows he’s alone. “I did, against my better judgement. And?”

“You said you still wanted them,” Jacob says. “And now one of them kisses you, and I’ll tell you a secret: that might mean he still wants you. And you _run away?_ ”

“And what would you suggest?” Haytham asks, through gritted teeth.

“You’re actually the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” Jacob says, in awed tones. “Even if you didn’t want Shay, I’d say your friendship should be able to get past it. Arno still puts up with me. But you’re not Arno; you’re _me_.”

“I am certainly _not_ you.”

“You’re me,” Jacob says, firmly. “And Arno’s kissing you back, and you’re just going to throw it away?”

Haytham blinks, momentarily thrown by the thought of kissing Arno. Good Lord, no. Everyone who’s lived through only _one_ lifetime seems such a child to him now.

“So why did you run?” Jacob asks. “What were you afraid would have happened if you’d stayed?”

The terror when he thinks of Shay’s kiss is something nameless and formless, but no less intense for that.

“The others might have found out,” Haytham says.

“And things might have been a bit embarrassing for a while?” Jacob asks, raising his eyebrows. “Well, that sounds like a terrible fate. I can see why you’d shut yourself off from everyone you care about to avoid it. Was that the only reason?”

He makes it sound so simple, moving past this. But the kiss opened the door of a cage. There were feelings Haytham had hoped could be left behind in his past life, feelings he’d hoped he could at least _pretend_ to have left behind, and now they’re prowling his chest again, stronger than ever. They’ll devour him if he returns.

“If I’d stayed a moment longer, I might not have been able to make myself leave,” Haytham says, quietly.

“And what?” Jacob asks. “You were worried about what Aveline would think?”

Haytham shakes his head. “I don’t believe Shay would do anything if he thought he was betraying her.”

“So why leave? You realise it’s even _legal_ in the time you’re in, two men?”

_And you’ve been asking about that, have you? You do realise it doesn’t make a difference if Arno doesn’t want you?_ Haytham almost says it aloud, but he bites down the urge; even if Jacob is being infuriating, he’s reluctant to alienate one of the very few friends he has left. “I’ve never overly concerned myself with the law. What point are you making?”

“The point is that you’re not going to be arrested for buggery,” Jacob says. “And you want to do some buggering, and Shay wants to be buggered. Or the other way round, I don’t know. So what’s stopping you?”

Haytham shifts uncomfortably. “Do you have to speak so... directly?”

“Seems to me that someone has to,” Jacob says, with a shrug. “You three are apparently useless at talking to each other. If you need someone to guide your hands, I’m going to step in.”

Haytham winces at the thought of Jacob _guiding his hands_. This is a hideous conversation. “I don’t need anyone to give me personal advice.”

“Something good happened. Have you realised that yet? A good thing happened to you, and you decided you urgently needed to be miserable. You _definitely_ need personal advice.”

Haytham breathes deeply for a moment, in and out. Jacob’s words almost seem to make sense in his head. But there’s still that terror, twisting in the pit of his stomach.

“Go home,” Jacob says, grasping Haytham’s shoulder briefly. “I know you might end up bedding two people you desperately want, and that would obviously be _terrible_ , but I’m not sure it’d actually be worse than staying here on your own.”

_Bedding_ isn’t a possibility that Haytham can allow himself to think about. But he’s starting to see a future in returning, perhaps.

“I’ll go home,” Haytham says, after a long, long hesitation. He nods to Jacob. “Thank you.”

Jacob grins. “Tell Evie I gave you good advice. She’ll never believe it.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Haytham returns, finally, looking strangely subdued, Aveline joins the throng of people welcoming him back. Edward and Desmond hug him, Elena climbs up for a kiss, Connor gives and receives a stiff nod, and even Shaun shakes his hand. But when Aveline hugs him, he goes limp in her arms and quickly makes an excuse to head to his bedroom. Shay, who was trying to stand up (he can walk just fine now, but standing up is still very difficult) gives her a puzzled look, and she sighs. She casts Shay a meaningful look, and as soon as the crowd has dispersed--it's Elena and Geraldine's bedtime, which means Desmond is going to read to Elena and Connor is going to tell Geraldine one of the stories of his people, and Edward has his zombies to watch, and Shaun is reading musty old books for fun--Aveline knocks on Haytham's door.

"Go away," is the not unexpected answer.

"We need to talk, all three of us. Or at least you and Shay need to talk, and you won't if I'm not there."

"No, we don't," is the muffled reply.

"Please, sir?" Shay pleads.

Haytham sighs audibly. “ _No_.”

Aveline tries the door. It's locked, of course, but it takes her only a minute with two of her hairpins to fix that. She and Shay burst through the door, only to find Haytham curled up on the far corner of his bed, tears streaking his face. It takes Aveline aback; she doesn't think she's ever seen him cry before.

"Are you hurt, sir?" Shay asks, awkwardly clambering onto the bed, dread all over his face. "Did you get injured while you were away?"

Haytham shrinks back from Shay's outstretched hand, and curls up tighter. "No, I'm well enough."

Shay exhales with relief. "I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because I wasn't there."

Aveline sits on the bed beside her husband, biting her lip. "Haytham, why are you crying then?"

Haytham looks like he's going to deny it, then deflates in on himself. "Help. Please. Help me."

Aveline crosses the bed to sit beside him, laying a hand on his arm. "Of course. What do you need?"

Haytham flinches, and catches his breath as Shay scoots to his other side. "I need..." He laughs, sardonically. "Perhaps I need to stop being _me._ ”

Shay frowns. "I like you very much the way you are, sir. I wouldn't change a thing about you."

"Wouldn't you?" Haytham asks, desperately. "Wouldn't you rather I kiss you back?"

"You did kiss me back," Shay points out.

"And then I ran away. For weeks. I _ran_ , Shay, what kind of Templar am I?”

"Was the kiss so bad?" Shay asks, brow creased. 

Haytham laughs, once. "No! It was, it was _wonderful_. I wouldn't have run otherwise. It stirred things...things in me I've tried to ignore. For _years_." He laughs again, and seizes Aveline's hand in his own. "And you, Aveline, every time you touch my arm or my back..." He squeezes her hand tightly. "All I've wanted to do is take your hand."

"And so you have, now," she tells him with a gentle smile. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"No," Haytham tells her, voice raw. "Because I don't want to stop there. I don't want _just_ to hold your hand, any more than I want _just_ to kiss Shay." His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. "I want _everything_ from the both of you. Everything. I can't stop at just your hand or his lips."

"You can have everything you like of me, Haytham," Aveline assures him.

"And me, sir," Shay says, and takes Haytham's other hand.

"It was just supposed to be that one night," Haytham nearly cries again. "Just the one night, and then it would be over, and, and, I would be done and finished and I wouldn't need nor want _anything_ anymore."

Aveline smiles. "I'm very glad that we continued on past our deaths. Among other things, it gives the three of us another chance."

Haytham looks horrified. Horrified, and strangely hopeful. "You can't mean...you want _another_ night with me?"

Aveline strokes his cheek with her free hand. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," Haytham says, flatly. "You two are very happy together. I've heard how happy you are."

"And you have been central to our happiness, always," Aveline points out. "You are no intruder, pushing your way in where you are not welcome."

"Sir," Shay adds, hoarsely, "I'm not poetic like Aveline is. All I know is that I've spent decades remembering that night. And, and wanting more. If you'll have me? If you'll have us?" He squeezes Haytham's hand.

Aveline is more direct, running one finger up Haytham's thigh with a tender smile. "We've both missed you."

Shay squeezes Haytham's hand again. "You've no idea."

Aveline takes his other hand and nestles it into the neckline of her low-cut shirt. "Please, Haytham." She leans closer and kisses him, slowly and gently, and after a long moment of indecision and anguish, he opens his mouth to hers.

Shay shifts closer to Haytham, watching the kiss hungrily. When Haytham breaks it off, gasping for breath, Shay asks, "If I kiss you now, will you run away?" For answer, Haytham turns to him and mashes his lips to Shay's in his eagerness. Shay winds his fingers through Haytham's hair, loosening his ponytail and holding his head in place as they kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains fairly explicit sexytimes. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip it.

Shay is panting when Haytham breaks off their kiss to take a breath. "Oh, sir," he murmurs. "I wish I hadn't scared you away. I just wanted this." He pulls Haytham close for another kiss.

Aveline has been stroking Haytham’s thigh, but a thought occurs to her. "We should all move over to our room," she tells Haytham, pointing at herself and Shay. "The bed's bigger, and nobody shares with us. You don't want your father to walk in on us, do you?"

"Are we really...we're really doing this again?" Haytham asks, suddenly nervous.

Aveline murmurs, "Well, I was thinking we could try different things, you know?" She kisses him tenderly. "There's so many ways to make love, and we've hardly scratched the surface here."

Shay gets up and peeks out the door, looking around, then whispers, "It's clear. Let's go!" They jog down the hall and duck into Shay and Aveline's bedroom, and Haytham’s heart pounds the whole way. What if someone happens to walk the wrong way at the wrong time and sees him disappearing into the wrong bedroom? He could play it off as Templar business, perhaps, and that they were about to send Aveline out--

His thoughts get interrupted by Aveline pushing him onto the bed, a lopsided smile on her face. "I don't know what you were thinking," she tells him as his heart starts to pound, "but pretty soon you'll be thinking nothing at all." She meets Shay's eyes and smiles. "Hold him in place and kiss him."

Shay is more than willing to follow her orders, and before Haytham can protest, Shay's lips are on his, and _oh_ his mouth is full of Shay's tongue. He barely even notices Aveline undressing, or unbuttoning and unzipping his nice trousers and _yanking_ them and his smallclothes (they're not called that anymore, are they? he keeps forgetting that) down his legs, he's so intent on the wonders of Shay's mouth. But he definitely notices when she slides onto him, and he bucks up into her. She moans a little, but her voice is determined. "Hold him _down_ , Shay." Shay rests his considerably brawny chest on Haytham's, pinning him in place, as his mouth trails to Haytham's neck with a litany of kisses and nips. Haytham whimpers, deep in his throat, as Aveline rides him. Her back is to him, her wondrously curved back, and he has a lovely view of her firm buttocks when Shay lets him. And what he can't see, he can most definitely _feel_ : how warm and slick she is, how tight she's gripping him, the frantic crescendo as she works him steadily towards her climax and his as well.

When it happens, he feels an unbearable pressure (he hears Aveline's ragged moans, Shay's murmurs of _yes, yes_ in his ear) that he pushes against as best he can with the both of them immobilizing him. As the pressure eases, he slips further into her (the furthest he's gone) and Shay bites his shoulder just then, a little spark that's the last thing he needs to send him tumbling over the edge. He loses himself inside her with a strangled gasp, and she presses herself closer still as he finishes.

She's smirking as she carefully pivots around (Haytham whimpers, it's _too much_ but he definitely wants to stay inside her, right now he never wants to leave) and begins to interrupt Shay's lips' assault on Haytham's mouth, neck, and shoulders.

They trade kisses for some time, until Haytham regains the power of speech. He places his hand flat on Shay's stomach, slowly running it down under his pajama pants. "I want to... I want to apologize. For running away when you just wanted to be close to me. I, I want to touch you," he whispers. "I want to make you feel wonderful. How--?"

Shay scoots his pants down, off his hips, freeing Haytham’s hand. "Just like touching yourself, sir," he murmurs. And he gasps at Haytham's touch, pressing himself into his fellow Templar's large, callused fingers. Haytham brings him agonizingly close to the edge, then hesitates.

Aveline is watching intently. "Finish him," she whispers. "Make him spill it. You can do it." She nibbles on Haytham's ear encouragingly.

Shay moans, "Please, sir. Please. I'm yours, I'm all yours." He shudders with pleasure at the movement of Haytham's thumb, and quivers with delight at his fingers, begging, "Faster, sir, faster!" He thrusts against Haytham's hand with a soft moan, and slumps on him with a dopey smile. "Oh, sir."

"Shay," Haytham murmurs tenderly.

Shay just grins lazily. " _Sir_." He nudges Aveline over and bends down to gently brush Haytham's thighs with his lips. Aveline smirks again and makes herself comfortable, pulling Haytham's hand into her lap. Shay plants little kisses all up and down Haytham's legs, then gently takes him half-hard into his mouth.

"Shay...I...ohhhh," Haytham begins, then breaks off into a sort of a whimpering moan as Shay presses his tongue _right there_. And then Shay's head is bobbing as he does wonderful, magical things with his mouth, and Haytham's hand is warm and wet as Aveline pushes it inside her. He strokes instinctively as Aveline makes soft sounds of pleasure, but right now all he can think of is the pure ecstasy of the way Shay's tongue is moving on him.

He's not sure how many times Aveline clenches his fingers, but she's very clingy and his hand is most decidedly drenched and sticky by the time he notices anything other than the contours of Shay's mouth and the minute movements of his tongue. Shay takes a breath, just a touch nervous, and swallows as much of Haytham--boss, friend, visitor, _lover_ \--as he can. The effect is immediate: Haytham twitches and jerks under him, pushing himself farther down Shay's throat with a deep moan and clutching the bedsheets as if to hold on in the face of such intense pleasure. Shay hums happily, which in turn sends Haytham, his whole body spasming, into a brain-melting orgasm.

In the afterglow (and Haytham _knows_ now why they call it that, that haze of satisfaction that accompanies the deep relaxation he's so rarely ever felt, the utter contentment of bringing his lovers the same sort of intense joy they've brought him) he's more than happy to curl his body around theirs, as Aveline pins Shay's hands to his sides with her knees, as she stretches herself across her husband, kissing him with the ease of long experience. She's a blur of movement, even with Haytham's arm slung across her back, and it isn't long at all before Shay's face melts into a satisfied smile, and he kisses her, and Haytham, deeply. They settle down into a cozy embrace, with Haytham somehow in the middle, and Shay closes his eyes peacefully.


	6. Chapter 6

Haytham nestles into the comfort of Shay's arms and pulls the blanket (one of those strange synthetic squares) up tenderly over Aveline. She wriggles against him, and if he weren't so sated, he'd want more in that instant.

More of her.

More of them.

But instead, all he feels is an overwhelming rush of tenderness and contentment as she makes herself comfortable in his arms. "I..." he begins. She looks over her shoulder at him. "I'm so happy," he breathes, amazed to recognize the feeling within himself. But there it is, in all its ephemeral glory, emanating from the base of his spine.

She smiles, and pulls Shay's arm into place so that she can pillow her head on it, and tugs Haytham’s hand until his arm clasps her close. "That was what we intended, yes." She's been completely swept away by pleasure, and can barely form coherent words; all she knows is that she wants to feel them skin to skin, to maintain that connection that's making her heart sing.

Shay buries his face in Haytham's hair and inhales deeply, savoring the scent of his sweat. It hums in his nerves all the way to his toes, and he thinks briefly that if Haytham wanted another go,  _ he _ certainly wouldn’t say no. There’s more to it, though. He's not sure  _ how _ or  _ why _ , but somehow it's more than just the sex (which is admittedly amazing.) And if he might never again hold Haytham in his arms, at least they've had two nights together, now.

It's impossible to tell which of them drifts off to sleep first. But Haytham wakes first, looking out the window to see the silvery pre-dawn sky. (He still hasn't got used to lighted alarm clocks.) He extracts himself from Shay and Aveline's embrace, careful of Shay's bad knee, and gathers his clothes from the floor.

Right. People in this century have showers after sex, right? To wash away the sweat and the smell and the stickiness. Haytham would prefer it very much if nobody could tell by smelling him what he was up to last night--although briefly, he wonders if Shay, who seems to like to sniff him, would like it if he still smelled of their escapades.

But no, he's pretty sure he  _ reeks _ of sex, enough that everyone would start asking questions he doesn't feel like answering. Bad enough that Jacob Frye knows of his feelings for Shay and Aveline, Haytham thinks as he clutches his clothing to his waist and slips out of the room. What if it was obvious to someone  _ more _ embarrassing, like--

_ His father_.

Edward has a bowl full of instant pudding, and looks like he's heading to bed to snack on it in direct contravention of Haytham's repeated orders. He's humming to himself, and nearly walks into Haytham, so intent is he on whatever he's thinking. He startles far too close to his son, then startles again when he gets a good look at him.

"You're naked! I didn't think you knew how!" Edward sounds absurdly proud, as if nudity is an achievement.

"Yes," Haytham mutters, trying to get around his father to the bathroom.

"And you smell like sex," Edward announces, and Haytham tries futilely to shush him as he continues. "Have you been screwing? Did I say that right? Screwing?"

Haytham would cover his face with his hands, but that would leave his midsection bare. "Father!" he hisses in an outraged whisper, "that's quite the worst way you could have put that."

"Was it Aveline?" Edward persists. "Because you know how Shay gets about people wanting to--or was it Shay? You've always been very close with him. Or was it," Edward grins as an idea occurs to him. "Aveline  _ and _ Shay?"

"Father," Haytham tells him stiffly, "whom I make love to is my own business, I'll have you know--"

"It  _ was _ Aveline and Shay!" Edward crows. "Well! Well done, son! I've never been so proud of you!"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Haytham groans. "Just please don't tell anyone? As a special favor for your only son?" It's probably useless, but he has to ask.

"Sure, sure," Edward tells him, beaming fatuously. "Imagine that. My little boy, all grown up and getting laid."

Haytham darts around his father and makes a break for the bathroom, where nobody will be able to see his flaming red cheeks. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a small amount of sexytimes in this chapter; if you'd like to skip them, just skip the paragraph after Shay starts kneeling.

Their first mission after Haytham’s return (and  _ that second night _ that Haytham hopes need never be repeated) is a success, mostly: Haytham and Shay have two flash drives full of classified Abstergo information, they'd taken out the cameras handily, and their target died without incident. Haytham is sure that the death will be blamed on the Assassins, as Shay was careful to use his hidden blade for the fatal wound.

There's only one problem: some of the low-level grunts, not worthy of the name Templars, had seen them and given chase. There's maybe half a dozen, with guns and those shock things Abstergo likes. Haytham is sure they could pick them off, given time and a favorable location, but he'd rather avoid and evade. After all, someday he may need strongmen.

Unfortunately, all the buildings in this century are inconveniently far apart, especially considering Shay's still-weak knee. So they stick to the ground, and make a wrong turn into an alley.

There's an open door leading to one of the buildings, and there's some sort of loud party going on inside. Shay tugs Haytham’s elbow towards the party, and at first he resists, but the goons' shadows appear at the mouth of the alley, which is all the inducement Haytham needs to duck inside, followed by Shay.

They stop.

The music is thumping, the lights are flashing, and men--mostly men--are dancing in the strange and absurd ways that people dance in this time. Against one wall, pairs of men kiss and clutch one another with varying levels of decency.

Well.

Haytham knew of such places, even in his own time. Knew of them, but never visited them, never even had the desire to visit them (but coming here  _ with Shay _ is an entirely new experience and not totally unwelcome). But here he is, and here's Shay, and they're  _ here. _ There's a strange buzzing in his ears and time is flowing in a weirdly clumped fashion.

Haytham gulps, and realizes that Shay is trying to say something to him. But it's very loud, and there's that buzzing in Haytham's ears, so Shay resorts to pointing. Pointing towards the wall where the men are kissing.

No.  _ No. _ It doesn’t matter, in that moment, that he has in fact kissed Shay, and done much more besides, recently even. Nothing can make him go to that wall and--

Well, nothing but the sight of Abstergo goons. Shay asks pointedly, "Would you rather  _ dance _ to blend in, sir?" but Haytham is already pulling him to a small space in between two other couples.

Yes, they're just like the  _ other couples, _ Haytham thinks, as his lips part under Shay's and their tongues meet. Shay's eyes are closed as he savors the kiss, but Haytham keeps an eye on the Abstergo strongmen, who are causing commotion on the dance floor. But that's over there, and nobody here seems to care about anything other than kissing and touching.

Haytham is uncomfortably aware that his proximity to Shay, and the admittedly marvelous kiss, are having a pronounced effect on him, and he desperately hopes not to be discovered. He's not sure how well he can fight with his trousers fitting so poorly as they do at the moment.

Shay presses him into the cinderblock wall, and--and it feels  _ good, _ the wall at his back and Shay's extremely muscular chest against his. Haytham’s arms circle Shay’s body as if of their own volition, and his eyes close as the kiss deepens.

He's not sure how long they kiss, but he's out of breath and thoroughly disheveled when Shay finally pulls back, panting. "Sir?" he asks, and Haytham pulls him close again. He's not sure why, but here in a crowd of men kissing other men, he feels like they're hidden, they're safe, and amidst all the licentiousness a simple kiss seems harmless. And Haytham  _ wants _ that kiss, as if that long-ago night had awoken something long dormant in him and that stolen kiss a couple of months ago flared it into life. Then came that night, their second together, which only stoked the fire. He can't get enough of Shay in this moment, and his hands drift down his fellow Templar's back to clutch at his well-muscled rear.

"Oh, sir," Shay whispers between kisses, pinning Haytham to the wall. Briefly, Haytham wonders just how far they could go, here in public, then quickly stops himself. What's to say Shay hasn't had his fill of Haytham?

Well, there's the way Shay feels against him, for one. "I think," Haytham says raggedly, "we may have to do more of this." He reaches for Shay's mouth to kiss him thoroughly. So wrapped up in each other are they that the Abstergo grunts don't even give them a second glance as they pass by. They're just two more long-haired men sucking face.

Shay gazes deeply into Haytham's eyes when their lips break apart again, and their desperate clutch doesn't lessen at all. "Sir," he murmurs.

" _Shay_ ," Haytham breathes, his voice catching in his throat. "I need you. I thought--I thought one more night--I'd be satisfied." He grinds against Shay, and whimpers.

"Was it satisfying, sir?" Shay whispers. "Did we please you?"

"Yes!" Haytham pauses to nip the perfect curve of Shay's ear. "But I find myself needing more." 

Shay pulls back enough to walk his fingers down Haytham's chest to the waistband of his trousers. "You mean..." his fingers slip underneath and he gently grasps, taking Haytham in hand.

"I mean, I...I..." Haytham stammers as Shay's hand begins to move. "Tonight. I want you. And your wife. Both."

"I don't know if I can wait that long," Shay tells him innocently. "I don't know if  _ you _ can wait that long, sir."

"Outside, then," Haytham gasps, pushing into Shay's curled fingers. "Not in here." Shay smiles, pulling out his hand and taking Haytham's. 

Haytham is very aware of where Shay's very warm hand has just been, and he gulps, but follows him more than willingly.

The alley is empty, now, and smells of trash. It's not pleasant at all, but the assault on his nose means nothing while he's there with  _ Shay _ . Before Haytham even knows what's happening, he's exposed to the night air and Shay is kneeling in front of him. And then--and then--

It's not like Haytham's never had Shay's mouth on him. It was just a few days ago. But somehow, in this dank alley with his back against a dirty wall, and every nerve tingling from the wonderful things Shay's lips and tongue are doing, it's all new again. And after a short while that seems an eternity of pleasure, Shay is swallowing hard and gazing up at Haytham, who slumps against the wall, unable to stand.

"I told you you couldn't wait," Shay murmurs.

"I don't know how we're going to make it home without me taking you," Haytham moans.

"We'd better move quickly, then, sir," Shay murmurs. "I want you to bugger me as soon as you're able." He grabs Haytham's hand and tugs it.

"Wait," Haytham asks. "Let me put it away. For now."

Shay smiles at him. "Of course."


	8. Chapter 8

"You seem really chipper today, Dad," Desmond says through yawns, stumbling into the kitchen.

"Chipper?" Haytham asks, flipping pancakes.

"Yeah. You're making pancakes, not wearing a shirt, and...are those Shay's pajama pants?"

Haytham flushes and looks down. "Someone must have mixed up the laundry. It's only what I would expect of a house full of Assassins."

"No, Dad, Shay was wearing those last night," Desmond insists. "Nobody else has blue pajama pants with hot peppers on them."

Haytham clears his throat. "Did you want maple syrup, Desmond? Or that blueberry syrup that Connor orders off the Internet?"

Desmond tries to cross his arms, but given how much of his right arm is gone, it doesn't quite have the same effect. "Dad. Why are you wearing Shay's pants?"

Haytham mutters, "I wondered why they didn't fit right."

"Dad. Shay's pants. Why?"

"They were probably on his floor," Edward offers helpfully, sneaking in to steal a pancake. "You know. Because of the sex they're having."

"The  _ what _ ?" Desmond looks close to an apoplexy, Haytham thinks, before he quickly averts his eyes.

"Didn't you know?" Edward asks, puzzled. "I've caught Haytham sneaking out of their room just before dawn more than once."

"Yes, Father, but I thought we'd agreed not to--"

"So you got some last night, huh? Good on you, son."

Haytham covers his face with his hands (and the spatula). "Father, that is extremely unhelpful at this point in time."

Desmond looks horrified. "You? And Shay? What does Aveline say?"

Haytham isn't sure how this situation could get any worse, but then Edward cheerfully explains, "Mostly she says, 'oooh, oh, yes, harder'. From what I've heard. She's very loud. They all are. Very bouncy on the bed."

Desmond just gapes. Haytham, red-faced, busies himself stacking up the pancakes on a plate, and hands them to Desmond. "Here. Enjoy. Pancakes."

"If you won't take them, I will," Edward says happily. "Don't be such a prig, Desmond. It's not like  _ you _ aren't bedding Evie."

"That's  _ different _ , Edward!" Desmond says. His voice cracks. "I've...I've just learned that my, my stuck up, repressed dad is having  _ threesomes _ with the two horniest people I know."

"Be happy for him," Edward advises.

"Don't think about it," Haytham suggests, looking at his bare feet. Not helpful, as this way he can see Shay's pants perfectly well. "And don't tell Connor."

* * *

Connor, predictably, catches Haytham kissing Aveline one day. Shay's out with Geraldine, contributing to duck obesity at the local park, and most of the assassins are on their own missions. Aveline had been feeling tired and had taken a nap, and when Haytham had gone to check on her, she'd just woken up. She'd patted the bed next to her, and after some cajoling, he'd joined her. It had only progressed to some fairly deep kissing when Connor walked in.

"Aveline, are you feeling--" Connor stops in his verbal tracks at the sight of _his best friend_ with her tongue in _his father's_ _mouth._

The horrified look on his face would be priceless if it weren't for the fact that Haytham suddenly fears for his life. He disengages his lips from Aveline's and stammers, "It's not what it looks like--"

"It's exactly what it looks like," Aveline interjects. "Or have things changed among us since Wednesday?" she asks Haytham pointedly.

_ "Among _ you?" Connor asks, his eyebrows doing their best to reach his hairline. "Do I want to know how things are  _ among _ you?"

Aveline smiles. "When your father ran away--"

"--I didn't _run_ _away,_ I needed time to think," Haytham disagrees.

Aveline continues without missing a beat, "He  _ needed time to think _ about Shay kissing him."

"And so I did," Haytham adds.

"And when he came back, we took him into our bed," Aveline finishes. "And things have progressed from there despite his formidable best efforts at denial." She smiles fondly at Haytham and squeezes his hand.

"Father," Connor begins, then breaks off and shakes his head and starts again. "Father, she is _my best friend_. And an Assassin. And _your best friend's_ _wife._ "

"And so she is," Haytham replies. "And I find myself as fond of her as I am of him, and," he clears his throat and admits in a mumble, "equally as attracted."

Connor's expression is all outraged shock. "What of my  _ mother _ ? I had thought you madly in love with her!"

Haytham’s expression softens. "So I am, and always will be. But... over the years... I have found that my heart has room also for the love that has grown among myself and a dear friend and his lovely wife. And I have found, moreover, that continued denial of that love required that I throw away  _ everything _ in my life that gives it meaning. Including you, son, including all our visitors, Desmond, Elena,  _ everyone _ . And I could not continue as a Templar, even, refusing to admit my desire and love for the only other true member of my Order."

Aveline squeezes Haytham's hand again, eyes shining as she smiles tenderly at him. Connor looks from one to the other, his brow creased with confusion and hurt. "Truly, then, it is love? Not mere desire?"

Haytham quietly admits, "It's love. I didn't ask for it, but there it is."

Connor thinks for a long moment, then says gravely, "I am... happy for the...  _ three _ of you." He shakes his head. "But it is strange to think of."

"It's about to get stranger," Aveline warns.

"How so?" Connor asks warily.

Aveline smiles and lays a hand on her stomach. "I'm pregnant," she announces cheerily. "It could well be your brother or sister, Connor."

Connor turns on his heel and stomps off.

Haytham stares. "When exactly were you going to tell  _ me _ ? Have you even told  _ Shay _ ?"

"Don't be silly, Haytham, he already knows." Aveline's voice is breezy.

"He knows that it might be  _ my _ child?" The phrase is awkward on his tongue.

"Yes, he  _ was _ there after all."

"And he's all right with that, is he?"

"If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t be, but it's  _ you _ . Of course, nobody would be able to know whose child it is anyway until it's born." Haytham stares at her blankly, and she sighs. "They have paternity tests in this century, Haytham." She squeezes his hand. "You don't have to decide what to do until then. Um, breathe, please, Haytham..."

Haytham looks like he might run again, run right out of their lives, and Aveline can't bear the thought, so she keeps a firm hold on his hand until his erratic breathing steadies. "Is this really happening?" he asks.

"You've never been in this situation before, have you?" she asks thoughtfully, and he shakes his head. She reaches up to kiss him gently, and promises him, "It only gets better from here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blueberry syrup Connor orders off the internet is from [Red Lake Nation](http://redlakenationfoods.com/index.cfm/wild-berry-jams-jellies-syrups). It's really, really amazing blueberry syrup.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from the marvelous Riona!

Ezio and Altaïr have been staying in a series of comfortable but unspectacular bed-and-breakfast establishments around Rome; Shaun, when they were drawing up the budget for this mission, was unconvinced by Ezio’s argument that they needed a single base of operations for the month, ideally a large villa complete with swimming pool. Monitoring Abstergo’s Italian headquarters is proving fruitful, and of course it is always a pleasure to work with Altaïr. But the nights are hard.

“Are you asleep?” Ezio whispers into the darkness.

Altaïr doesn’t reply. He asks again, louder.

“Mm?” Altaïr asks, groggily. “What?”

“Are you asleep?”

There is a pause.

“Rest will not come to me,” Ezio says, when it becomes clear that Altaïr is not planning to answer. He gazes at the ceiling. “Perhaps what I need is companionship.”

“I wish you luck in finding it.”

“We used to share our beds often, the eight of us,” Ezio says, reflectively. He smiles at Altaïr. “Perhaps not all eight. But I miss it.”

“We used to find ourselves often on visits to each other, without beds of our own,” Altaïr says. “Why we stopped is no mystery.”

“Cold practicality is all that appeals to your heart? I should have chosen a room with only one bed for us.”

“I would have slept on the floor.”

“So cruel, Mentor.” Ezio closes his eyes. “Perhaps the newer visitors would be willing to share.”

“You have never struck me as a man who has trouble sleeping.”

“It is a new and unwelcome development,” Ezio says. “Usually it is only occasional, but it has been worse since we came to Italy. I cannot understand it.”

“Even in the absence of Shay and Aveline?” Altaïr asks. “I have not slept so well since Masyaf.”

Ezio sits suddenly up in bed and strikes the lightswitch. “That is the answer.”

“What is?” Altaïr asks, shielding his eyes.

But Ezio is already fumbling with his phone.

The other end rings for a long time before it’s eventually answered.

“ _Ezio? Is all well?_ ”

“Aveline,” he informs her. “You and Shay have made life extremely difficult for me.”

“ _We try_ ,” Aveline says. “ _What are you blaming us for?_ ”

“The sound of you loving each other lulls me to sleep,” Ezio says. Altaïr is giving him an incredulous look. “I can no longer rest without it.”

Aveline bursts out laughing. There’s a strange, strangled noise in the background. “ _I suppose it comes of always choosing the room closest to ours. You’ve never exactly tried to avoid listening, have you?_ ”

“Do not make it sound so sordid,” Ezio says. “I am nobly sparing the others the noise.”

“ _Liar_ ,” Aveline says, fondly.

Ezio is piecing it together, the oddly breathless quality to Aveline’s voice, the choked-off gasp when she’d laughed. “If we are to accuse each other of being sordid, are you... _busy_ , whilst taking this call?”

“ _It must be one in the morning in Italy_ ,” Aveline says, unabashed. “ _I thought perhaps you had run into trouble on your mission. I thought it best not to make you wait, if this was an urgent call. But I take it I can return my attention to the present company._ ”

“It _is_ an urgent call,” Ezio says. “It is one in the morning, and I cannot sleep. Could you not let me listen?”

“ _Ezio_ ,” Altaïr says, his tone nothing short of horrified.

Aveline laughs again, and again Ezio hears Shay’s stifled reaction. Or...

“Who are you with?” Ezio asks, frowning.

“ _I am with Shay, as you so astutely deduced._ ”

“That is not Shay. I know what Shay sounds like.” After all this time living with Shay and Aveline, he knows the sounds Shay makes in the throes of passion almost better than he knows his own.

Is one friend being unfaithful to another? What does he do in this situation?

“ _Hmm._ ” Aveline drops her voice, apparently addressing whoever is with her on the other side of the phone. “ _I think it might be simplest to explain the circumstances._ ”

“ _I could just tell him I’m here._ ” Shay’s voice, faint, and Ezio relaxes a little, although he’s still confused. He was _certain_ Shay wasn’t the person he could hear. “ _It’d be true._ ”

“ _He sleeps in the room next door. How long do you think it will take him to realise something’s amiss, after he returns?_ ”

There’s a very long silence.

“ _Oh, very well_ ,” Haytham says at last, reluctance clear in his voice. “ _My father knows, so it’s only a matter of time before every person on this Earth has heard of my personal business. Let’s get this over with._ ”

Haytham. _Haytham?_

“Is Haytham _watching you?_ ” Ezio asks, incredulous. Surely not.

Altaïr sits up. “What?”

“ _Haytham is doing rather more than that_ ,” Aveline says.

A grin spreads across Ezio’s face. This is _very_ interesting news. “Can you pass the phone to him?”

“ _I think Ezio wants to congratulate you_ ,” Aveline says, more distant now, as if she’s holding the phone away from her ear.

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” Haytham says. “ _I refuse to hear it._ ”

Aveline’s voice is clear again when she next speaks. “ _Your request is denied, I’m afraid. You’ll have to ask Haytham your questions when you come home._ ”

“ _If he speaks of this, I won’t answer_ ,” Haytham says.

“So is this a rotating arrangement?” Ezio asks. “Are you prepared to take other applicants into your bed? Or is it Haytham alone?”

“What is this conversation you are having?” Altaïr demands.

“ _Only Haytham, for the moment_ ,” Aveline says. “ _As loath as I am to disappoint you._ ”

“ _Don’t say ‘for the moment’!_ ” Shay protests in the background.

“A shame,” Ezio sighs. “Well, tell Haytham I expect him to make just as much noise as the two of you, so I can sleep peacefully at last.”

“ _I’m sure we can manage that_ ,” Aveline says.

A moment later, Haytham _squawks_ and then says, furiously indignant, “ _End the call!_ ”

Aveline laughs and bids Ezio farewell, and then she is gone.

When Ezio looks up from the phone, Altaïr is staring at him.

“Do you have questions?” Ezio asks, innocently.

“None I want to hear the answer to, I feel,” Altaïr says, after a moment.

Ezio lies back in bed, thinking.

“Three of our friends are sleeping together,” he murmurs, half to himself. “One of them is _Haytham_ , of all people. And here I am, alone.”

“I will save you the question,” Altaïr says. “No.”

Ezio smiles at that. “I did not plan to ask. For all your fine qualities, you are only one man. I am not sure you can soothe this particular envy alone.”

“I hope I never learn what third person you are contemplating.”

“I am open to whatever possibilities might present themselves,” Ezio says.

And then Arno appears at the foot of Altaïr’s bed.

Ezio laughs so hard he nearly suffocates. Eventually, when he’s started to compose himself, he wipes the tears from his eyes to see Arno looking quite alarmed.

“Is everything all right?” Arno asks.

“Arno,” Ezio says, through the remnants of his laughter. “What fortunate timing.”

“Do not, Ezio,” Altaïr says.

“Altaïr and I were wondering whether you would join us in a night of passion.”

Arno stares at him.

Altaïr presses a hand over his face. “Altaïr was wondering nothing of the sort.”

“Er,” Arno says, edging backwards. “I think I’m all right as I am, thank you. I’m sorry if my presence is... interrupting your plans.”

“I should have come here with Connor,” Altaïr mutters. “Surely we could have managed without an Italian speaker.”

There is, Ezio realises, a chance that he’s decreased Arno’s willingness to share a bed in innocence, but it was something that had to be asked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this last chapter is from the amazing VampireBadger!

She's beautiful.

Haytham's arms are shaking so badly as he holds her that he almost wants to tell someone to take her away—that she's not safe with him, he'll drop her or hurt her. But he can't bring himself to let go, he can't stop looking at her beautiful face, her perfect, tiny hands. He loves the way her mouth stretches open into a yawn, the way her eyes wrinkle as she looks blearily up at him. The baby books all say that a newborn can only see about eight to fifteen inches at birth (and Haytham should know—he's read every one he can get his hands on, ignoring Shay and Aveline's teasing). He lifts the newborn a little higher, cradling her against his chest. He wants her to see him.

Shay presses up against his side, slipping a hand around Haytham's waist as he smiles broadly down at the baby.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Haytham asks. He means… he doesn't know what he means. Holding a child, looking at her, just… marveling at the fact that she is here at all. But he can't figure out the right words, and so maybe it is lucky that Shay knows him so well.

"No," Shay says, without waiting for more of an explanation. "And it only gets better."

"It gets better?" Haytham asks. How can it possibly get better than this single, perfect moment?

"She'll grow up," Aveline says. Haytham and Shay look down at her in the hospital bed. "And one day you'll look at her and realize she's not a baby anymore, she's her own person. She's thinking her own thoughts, she's deciding what she wants and acting on her own to reach it. One day she'll call you father, one day she'll tell you she loves you."

"I'm not her father," Haytham says, tongue stumbling over words he doesn’t want to say. "I mean, we won't know until—or if—we decide to do a paternity test." Right now, the little girl is still a mystery, too young and too small to really recognize any of them in her face. Not that Haytham hasn't looked, of course. He can't stop himself from scouring her face for his own features, for Shay's…

"You're her father," Aveline says firmly. "Just as Shay is her father."

Haytham's forehead creases a little in confusion—he might not be as experienced as the other two in such matters, but he is fairly sure that is not how pregnancy works.

"It was our love that brought this baby into the world," Shay says, turning his head slightly and dropping his voice, murmuring into Haytham's ear. "All three of us. Regardless which of us is her biological father, she will grow up with three people that care for her very much."

"But I…" he trails off, unable to admit how badly he wants this child to be _his_. Not to exclude Shay (never, no…), but because he has never had the chance to do right by a child of his. His relationship with Connor had been marked from the very beginning by mistakes and missteps. And he had come to Desmond far too late. Both of Haytham's sons had suffered as children because he was not there for them. He knows that having a daughter to get things right with won't undo the damage he's done already, but…

He realizes he's trailed off into silence, staring at the child as she stares back at him.

"…don't think that's a good idea," Aveline is saying when Haytham forces his mind to return to the scene around him.

"Graneuil is a perfectly good name," Shay insists.

"It's… unusual," Aveline says. "But not for our child, I think."

"There was a famous pirate with that name, wasn't there?" Haytham asks. His voice sounds fuzzy and vague in his own ears. His brain is still slightly disjointed—something about this child seems to make him go soft inside, makes him melt like snow under the sun. "Irish, I think."

Shay nods, and Aveline groans. "That's all we need," she says. "Another child named for a pirate. It didn't work out very well with Tomas."

"Grace," Haytham says. "That's the Anglicized version of Graneuil, isn't it?"

Shay nods slightly, and Haytham isn't thinking of pirates, he's thinking of what _grace_ means, of undeserved blessings, of forgiveness, of love.

"I like that one better," Aveline says.

"Grace," Shay agrees.

The door behind them opens, and Haytham turns around to see Desmond come in, holding Geraldine and followed by Connor. Geraldine squirms her way out of Desmond's grip immediately and toddles up to Haytham, staring upward at Grace with her mouth open. Haytham (who still feels slightly uncomfortable around her, unsure as he is how to explain his relation to her parents) quickly passes Grace back to Aveline.

When Geraldine, Aveline, and Shay are all gathered around the newborn, Haytham turns to his sons. He can't meet Connor's eyes, he hasn't been able to since the day Connor walked in on him kissing Aveline. So he turns to Desmond instead. "Where's Elena?" he asks.

"The others are watching her for a minute," Desmond says. "But we, uh…" he gestures between himself and Connor and Geraldine, then pauses as if unsure how to go on.

"We wanted to meet our sister," Connor finishes quietly. And he does not quite smile at Haytham, he does not give his blessing or even approval for the strange love Haytham has found in Shay and Aveline. But he says, "I am happy for you, father," and coming from Connor that means a lot. Haytham smiles at him, and allows himself to believe that this is a step in the right direction.


End file.
